On this birthday of yours, I want to unleash one beautiful memory that is part of you and me. I don’t know how much of it you remember now, after all, you have a terrible memory. But somehow as I am growing up in years, my mind wants to hold on to all the precious memories of my past. Unlike other families, we don’t have too many photographs of us. But I have memories that keep me going in difficult times. These memories remind me that I was, I am, and I will always be loved.
So please hold my hand, to walk back into the time when I was so little that you used to carry me in your arms and take me out for the simple pleasures of riding a bike.
The light breeze making my short hair sway, the rustling of our clothes against the wind, and the feeling of flying like a bird. You, me and our weekly Sunday rides, on your black atlas bicycle. The little me sitting in front, on the crossbar and you on the rider’s seat, taking us away from the chaos of the world we inhabited.
The roads awaited us, and we ventured on them as if we both were on a secret mission. The lanes were different each time, but the destination was always the same. The deserted road surrounded by Aravali range with big brickyards on the side, there stood a war memorial. Unbeknownst to many, it was a hidden treasure that you found for our outings. You would sit on one seat, smiling at me, and I would circle the memorial stone reading the names aloud. Sometimes you shared stories about different wars that the soldiers were fighting. You explained to me how the people named on the stone laid their life for the country we all call home. The little mind of mine would not understand everything that you would say, but it realized one thing at that time. The place of our outing is not a regular place, it was as sacred as a holy place.
At other times the two of us would sit in silence, each lost in musings of once mind. The silence taught me that sometimes it’s much more important to feel the same thing rather than having a conversation about it. After all, always talking doesn’t mean we are conversating. In that calmness, I learned to listen to my soul at a young age.
You gave me a precious gift daddy, and here I am merely attempting to preserve the memory of the beautiful experience you gave me. Thank you for the best childhood a child could ever ask for, from a parent.
Happy 64th birthday daddy, I wish good health and blissful days for you, in the years to come.
The winds once again have changed their direction, there was certain coldness in it now, signalling the oncoming winter season. She wobbled around in her swollen belly, collecting clothes from the clothesline. She was due in the next fifteen days, but the old ladies of the village said that children are always born before their due date. She doesn’t know much about it, and it’s her first pregnancy. She doesn’t even have any access to books and magazines to help her in this hilly village which is cut out of the city by miles. So everything she knew came from the mouths of other experienced women.
In his last letter, her husband informed her that he would not be able to come during the birth of the child. But he promised that he would visit around March. He asked her to take good care of herself and the child.
Her life took a huge turn, a year and a half ago. She was an educated city girl, now living in a remote village, where you walked miles to get the water. The poetry and the hidden words of wisdom that her books gave her were diminishing. But the entry of the tiny seed inside her womb revived her back to life. It gave meaning to her existence. Now at night, she was no longer alone, there was a companion who was listening to her. She recited all the poetry and the stories she has read all along. She knew the baby was in love with words just like her. They had an invincible bond, making them two burning flames of the same light.
Slowly she stepped on the staircase with the bundle of dry clothes. She lowered her body to sit on the floor and started folding the clothes in a neat pile next to her. It was then that she felt some prickling pain in her abdomen. She tried standing up from the floor, but she couldn’t. The pain was increasing with such intensity that she knew that the time has come.
She cried in pain, calling her aunt in law for help, who was busy setting up the dinner for the family. Before someone could come over for help, she collapsed on the floor. They revived her somehow, and her body was aching all over the place. She was in a different room now, and someone was holding her hands. The saree was taken off from her body, and she could feel a hand touching her genitals. An unknown soft wrinkled faced woman loomed over her. With an old white cotton saree draped on her sagging skin, covering her head which hid the streaks of white hair among the lustrous black, parted from the middle, gave her a wry smile. She knew from that smile that woman was the midwife, who will help her bring the life inside her in the outside world. She was profusely sweating, and she could feel someone’s hand wiping her face again and again. Her cries were getting louder with the passing time, and the voices around her kept asking her to push harder. She pushed hard enough one last time and everything after that was hazy in her mind, now.
It’s been years now, but the memory of that day still haunts her at times. The blue body of her first born child never entered this world, but somehow, it never left her soul. The small warm droplets have started falling from her eyes now. A warm hand wipes up her tears, and she looks up at her daughter’s face, her third born but to the world her second born child. It took her twenty-five years to open her wounded soul to someone. She held her daughter’s hand and said “that’s why I never buy any new thing on Dhanteras” because that day I lost something so precious to my existence that no worldly thing would ever compensate it.
After that day her daughter never asked her mother to celebrate the festival. Years later when her daughter started her own family, she would follow in her mother’s footsteps. Never buying any new thing but never forgetting lighting up a diya in her brother’s name. For the world, she had only one brother, but in her heart, she never forgot that she had another one in another realm.
PS: Today I have completed four years of my Blogging journey on WordPress. So I thought of sharing this true story. Some pieces are hard to write and this one is one such write up. So with lot of shilly-shallying, I bring this story out here for you to read. I hope you guys like it
I spent this New Year’s Day by going out shopping with my family, by family I mean all the ladies in the house, there are four of us 😀 with four kids tucked with us and one guy(my brother in law) to drive us around and take care of kids when we are engrossed in our tasks 😉
As we were browsing through the shops, my three little nephews started whining about shopping and how they were getting bored with us. So we decided to drop them all in the Gaming Zone while we’re shopping. After doing all the shopping when we reached to collect them, they weren’t ready to come out. Then my seven-year-old nephew very smartly tucked the card inside my pocket and asked me to have a dual with him in the basketball throwing game. After one game, my sister in law also joined me, so now it was me and my sis in law who were competing in the game. It was so much fun, and we were so engrossed in it, that it was us now, who has to be dragged out, of it.
While returning home, I was back down the memory lane of my first visit to a gaming zone. I was twenty-one and in my first year of my master’s degree, when I visited my aunt in Delhi for a few weeks during my first winter break. My nine-year-old cousin was invited to a friends party which was taking place in a gaming parlor. My aunt was invited too, so if she attended the party than I would have been left alone at home. My aunt persuaded me to accompany her to the party by luring me to wear the new clothes we two have bought together. Parading myself in a newly purchased black jacket and red sweatshirt, I joined the kid’s party in Fun Zone(name of the gaming parlor). As we entered there, my cousin ran, leaving my hand and joined his friends who were already playing. The cacophony of the place took me by surprise, and all I can see was a plethora of kids running everywhere with their ticket collection. To say that the energy was infectious would be an understatement.
See I am a real 90’s Indian kid, wherein in the name of gaming parlor I have seen a big arcade machine with two huge joysticks for controlling the movement of the characters in the game. We use to pay two rupees for half an hour of play time. I still remember I was six years old when I sneaked out with my brother on one of his such adventure. I lent him two rupee coin from my piggy bank so that he would take me with him. The parlor was in the next lane to our house. Winter has just begun, my grandfather was back in town for his winter hiatus with us. It was around 4 pm; mom was busy preparing evening tea for grandpa when stealthily we left the house. The video game parlor was full of young boys and teenage kids, where they were yelling and freely cussing each other. My brother who was holding my hand till then felt a bit embarrassed by the act and let it go. He then asked me to stand beside him and watch him play, Street Fighter. He dropped the two rupee coin in the slot, then the came ear splitting noise from the machine, starting the game. I loved watching the game and asked my brother to give me the keys for a few minutes to which he happily obliged, which was quite surprising knowing his selfish nature. Holding those giant sticks, I felt the powerful controlling fate of those fighters. The shooting up of dopamines can be addictive at times, and it was my first time feeling so much excitement just out of a game.
As the excitement went up, we forgot about time, until the parlor guy poked us to leave. Dreading my mom’s fury, my brother left me at the door and ran away to play with his friends in the park. I hesitantly went inside, and my mom was sitting on the porch waiting for us, as soon as she saw me her first reaction was of relief, which swiftly changed from grave to glowering. To save myself from her ire, I told her the whole story causing big trouble for my big brother. So by the time he came back, his concerns were already raised to his Royal Highness aka daddy, which in turn led him being getting grounded for a month. And because of the fiasco, he never retook me with him for any of his adventures.
So after ages, I landed up in a Video parlor by courtesy of my little cousin who left me stranded with so many colorful funny sounding machines. I was still figuring out those machines when the mother of the birthday boy approached me and handed me the card. It took me a while to understand how everything worked, but the moment I figured it out, I felt my eureka moment. Since then I never miss an opportunity when it comes to gaming zones.
In fact, on my 25th Birthday, my brother and my sister in law took me to a gaming parlor for celebration. I was engaged by then, soon to be married and my brother decided that its good that we spent some time being kids again. The funny thing is my husband is just like me when it comes to gaming parlors, not missing a chance to be there and enjoy being a child again.
PS: Tell me your gaming parlor story, how old were you when you first visited it and how was your experience. Do you love going to gaming zones, how often do you go? Let’s talk about gaming parlors in the comment section.
“Your life is enriched with meaning when allow yourself to become inspired, set goals, and charge after them with passion.”
― Julie Connor
Its one thing to admire something from a far end, while its totally different thing to enter the long cherished domain and examine things first handily . Being a book lover, it was my long desire to attend a literary festival sometime. The opportunities to do so never came until yesterday. I recently started following a local FM Facebook page as they have started a poetry slam. But I never got any response from them except one asking for my personal number where they never bothered to call.
I knew that around September, a literary festival is conducted in my city, but I never bothered to search for it in details. So day before yesterday, I saw a facebook update on local FM page regarding the ongoing literary festival, I got excited checked the details and realized it was being conducted in a nearby place and 4th September that happens to be yesterday, was the last day of the festival. I checked the program details and got excited by seeing the event list.
I left my home around 1.30 pm and reached the venue by 2pm. I realized the program that I so dearly wanted to attend has already been started, and the auditorium was overcrowded, I persuaded the guy outside the auditorium to let me go in saying I would be occupy so less of a space. He denied at first saying he can’t as other people who were standing out would also like to join me. I made a puppy face and said please, see there is no one around us, so no one will know that you let me in. He looked around for a while and opened the gate stealthy and let me in. Their I entered in the literary world and attended my first ever Literary Festival in Pune called Pune International Literary Festival 2016.
My Attendee Identity Card
It was a session “Yours truly with Prasoon Joshi(Rajeev Masand in conversation with Prasoon Joshi).” I have admired him a lot specially for his touching poetry. There I was listening live to one of the most famous lyricist , film writer and poet of my country.
I couldn’t click his photograph as I was in standing in crowd where we couldn’t see him bare eye and had to look at the screens for the same. It was one of most beautiful session I attended where he talked about his journey, people who influenced him, gender equality and poetry recital.
The next session was “Roast- Ashwin Sanghi”, though it was never a real roast as the author is not a controversial person. He is one of the best seller of our country belonging to mystery genre. I have read few of his books and they are quite good too. He has often been referred as Dan Brown of India. Nevertheless the session was quite entertaining as the author talked about his 47 rejections by different publication houses until he made it to the best seller list.
All the authors in conversation with piyush jha(from left to right – Neeraj Kumar, Helen Smith, Piyush Jha, Avirook Sen and Mark Manuel)
This was very knowledge enhancing session as three of the authors were somehow related to crime time. Neeraj Kumar was an ex-IAS officer while Avirook and Manuel belonged to crime journalism. On the other hand we had Helen Smith a London based author who writes fictional crime stories while the moderator Piyush Jha is fictional thriller writer who is also a film writer and director.
The session highlighted the difference between the real and fictional crime. How it is solved in real life and what are the challenges the writer faces when they talk about the truth in their books. How cautious they have to be in bringing out the facts in their books. How they have to draw line where they have to put enough on a reader’s plate but not sufficient enough for the people to get the real culprits and identities.
After this session wandered outside for a quick break of snacks and coffee, looking at the book stalls. I didn’t bought any book from their because of two reasons, one I forgot carry enough cash to indulge in it and secondly I am overloaded with my To-Read list.
I also attended last few minutes of a session of “Archie in your life”(Siddhartha Jain in conversation with Co-CEO of Archie Comics – Nancy Silberkleit) where they talked about how the archie comics concept came 77 years ago and how after her husband’s sudden demise she has to take over his role and how fascinated she became with Archie’s world. How Archie has been one of the most famous comic strip and comics of all times in the world.
Sidhartha Jain with Co-CEO Archie Comic Nancy Silberkleit
The last and the most awaited session of this year’s literary festival was “Yours truly Anupam Kher”.
Anupam Kher in conversation with Ashok Chopra
Anupam kher is one of the most famous Bollywood actor, theatre artist , motivation speaker and most importantly an author. He is the man who is a born optimist and truly believes in “Kuch Bhi Ho Sakta Hai”(If this can happen then anything can happen) philosophy. He talked about his struggle for niche in Bollywood industry, his humble background , his teachings from his parents and grandparents. His love for his craft and his die hard love for his country.
He ended the session one of my favourite poem by one of most loved poet of our nation Harivansh Rai Bachchan
“लहरों से डर कर नौका पार नहीं होती हिम्मत करने वालों की हार नहीं होती
नन्ही चींटी जब दाना लेकर चलती है चढ़ती दीवारों पर सौ बार फिसलती है मन का विश्वास रगों में साहस भरता है चढ़ कर गिरना, गिर कर चढ़ना न अखरता है आखिर उसकी मेहनत बेकार नहीं होती कोशिश करने वालों की हार नहीं होती“
The English translation for the same goes by :
The boat that qualms the waves Never gets across The mind that dreads and dares Has never been at loss The tiny ant, when it carries the grain Lays it up into the heights of the wall Falls slippinga hundred times, Just as it tries again The faith in the mind Stirs courage in the nerves It soars and slips, then slips and soars again Until its efforts have not been in vain
The one who tries,Never fails.
PS : So tell me when was the first time you attended a literary festival or attended a book launch or joined a community for book lover or anything that marked your first step in getting out of your cocoon.
“Behind all your stories is always your mother’s story, because hers is where yours begin.”
Recently we all celebrated Mother’s Day with lot of zest. Making our mother feel special for a day is a great idea. Now, that I am married, I am showered with love of two mothers. I love giving surprises, so for each of my mother I did something different. For my birth mother, I sent a small gift followed by a small wish call on phone. For my new mother, I was able to do things in much more meaningful way as she was with us on this day.
The day was a full family day. A well spent one.
As I was lying on my bed, calling sleep, I had a thought that struck me hard. We girls often say things like we want to be like our mothers, if we became even 0.1 percent like them, we would be really happy, I have got my strength from my mom, she is the best women I know etc..etc.
Do we always use to thing like this?? Were we always felt so grateful toward our mother’s?? Did we always idolized them?
For me the answer is a big NO!
Those who think that, I am being too rational or rude, I would say wait till you read me completely.
There was a time, I so much wanted, not be to be like my mother. In fact, I never liked the idea when someone compared me to her. I remember when I once said to her, I am so happy that I don’t look like you. I know that statement is such a horror on a mother’s face. When your child make you feel that your partner is superior in looks than you and he/she is grateful that they got superior genes. My mother never replied me back on that statement but years later, I realized how much painful that one statement would have been for her.
My mother is a timid woman when it comes to expressing herself, people relentlessly, dominate her. This attribute of her always irritated me. I have been witness of many such nasty situations where people overlooked her. I once argued with her after one such bad moment, saying that “How could you allow someone to control you so much “. She was bewildered by my confrontation, but after a long pause she said “I promise you that I will never let that happen to you “. I ignored her remark, and went on with my life carelessly. Until recently, I took pride in being a person whom no one could think of messing up with, never once realizing that the seed of this confidence and belief was instilled by the woman, I called my mother.
Every mother and daughter on this earth have fought once, for reason big and small. Our relation too went through this stage once. Our major opinion difference was our taste in clothing. I always loved having too many clothes that too of latest fashion. I am not makeup or accessory person but I love stylish and fashionable clothing items whereas my mother is a classy dresser. She love simple clothes that are evergreen and don’t bother much about having lot of them. During my teenage and early twenties we never agreed on same clothing’s for me. I always considered my mother’s choice as boring until someone changed my thoughts.
It was my cousin’s wedding and all my aunts were dressed up with makeup and glittery clothes. My mother being her usual self, wore a simple saree with only a single piece of jewellery that she possess. We all were admiring the ones who have all donned up for the occasion. Suddenly my little cousin pointed me towards my mom and said “I loved the way mausi (mom’s sister) is dressed up, so simple and different from all others.” Her words made me think that being peppy and trendy doesn’t make you different, it’s you yourself, your own thoughts and mind, make you different. I realized how my mother was different and unique from all other women of our family.
After the wedding got over, one of my distant relative asked my mother who her daughter was? My mother called me and proudly said “She is my daughter”. I saw the look on the woman’s face, she looked at me with awe. This time I took full pride in being my mother’s daughter and I told her “ I am nothing like my mom, I could never be like her, because no one in the world could be like my mother”.
PS: I took birth from your womb 27 years before but I turned into your daughter the day I realized “You are the best thing that I have”
My first memory of our country’s capital, Delhi, is of visiting National Zoological Park.
Mathur aunty use to live in our building that too on our floor. Mathur uncle use to work with my father, while aunty was a homemaker like my mother.
The sad part of their life was that they didn’t have children. They liked my brother but they loved me more. One summer evening she asked my parents whether she can take us to Delhi for a week. My parents were very apprehensive about it and told her that they will think about it. Meanwhile aunty divulged her plan to us and we got ready to accompany her.
My brother insisted my parents to let us go, so after much persistence, they gave in. Our bags were packed, mom gave a long list of dos and don’t s and we happily left our home to explore a new city.
After resting for a day, we went to see the zoo. I still remember the big stone with an inscribed name of the park.
The beautiful small lake at the entry where white ducks were playing.
The different colourful birds sitting on small branches of trees. The hopping monkey’s inside a small cage , where people were offering them bananas from outside. The sleeping crocodile lying in cool pool of water. So many peacocks dancing on the fences together.
The big black tiger with brown eyes staring right back at me. Seeing big lion called bababar sher( the toughest among the lion clan) roaming inside a big area which also had small lake for him. Big fox inside a room which had a small window for peeking visitors. The big rhinoceroses behind a big wall, for showing them my uncle had to pick me up on his shoulders. The lazy hippopotamus inside a marsh.
It is what all I can remember from my first visit to zoo in Delhi when I was four years old.
This all came flashing back when my four-year old nephew recently visited a zoological park in Mysore and came back with interesting stories for me. We discussed how all animals looked like , to the voices they were making , to the activities they were involved in. It was indeed great to go back down the memory lane, once again.
PS: Share your story of first zoological park visit or wild life century?
This my attempt for the Twenty-sixth day of the A-Z Challenge.
Beautiful yarns of different colours, is what winter reminds me. The warmth of hand knitted sweaters by my mother in jittery winters was like a covering protecting us from cold and evil eyes.
Those narrow lanes of city market, walking miles holding my mother’s hand, just to get yarns of wool of better quality in a cheaper prize. Selecting one single colour amongst the hundreds of beautiful brightly coloured yarns.
My mother calculating the quantity required for me, thinking it should be more than what she bought last year,because I was growing like an eucalyptus.
She would put hank of yarn over her knees and would begin wrapping the yarn around her thumb and first three fingers.
She would she change the directions every now and then, moving her hands very fast. A nice beautiful even ball of yarn that feeds pleasingly from the centre. I was then asked to bring needle box, which was a white coloured old drinking bottle which served as needle case.
They were generally white in colour with number written on square part at one end side. The size of needle is very important while knitting because large stitches can be made with large needles, whereas fine knitting requires fine needles.
I use to gather small left out pieces from the yarn and make cat whiskers. It was a fun game to play with.
Sometimes I was asked to hold the yarn from one end so that mom could make the base of the ball, the centre part.
A yarn teaches us so many things in a simple way. Clearly up things before you plunge into something. One wrong move can really make your life bit messy and last but not the least, a beautiful well made ball looks beautiful to others but only the one who made it knows the pain they took, to make it so.
This my attempt for the Twenty-fifth day of the A-Z Challenge.
I was 11year old when I first saw an X-ray report. My grandfather has injured his spine while traveling in a rickshaw.
One day he came back from market and complained about pain in his lower back. He was quite overweight and we thought may be sitting for too long on rickshaw must have caused it. My father massaged his back with lukewarm mustard oil. But the pain still rmained.
So he was taken to orthopedic surgeon for a check-up and from there he returned with brown paper bag. I waited for everyone to settle down, so that I can peek into the envelope.
Once mom and dad got busy in discussing what the doctor has advised, I slowly grabbed the envelope and stealthily moved in the next room.
I opened the envelope and saw a black transparent thick sheet with some blurred image on it. It liked what I saw and it created a curiosity to know more about it.
I searched books in library to know more about x-ray, how it worked, and what the machine is called and so on. This how I fall in love with biology and took it up as my main subject in school. Though I never did anything great in that field but I still love to read about human body.
This my attempt for the Twenty-fourth day of the A-Z Challenge.
Today I have very small story to tell, it’s an incident of the time when I use to have a very narrow waistline.
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15th August (Independence Day of India) was approaching and like every year our school was participating in dance competition that was held at district level.
Our music teacher came in our class and selected some student for the competition. It used to take place in a large city stadium, hence 200 students were selected from whole school.
The dance number was an old folk song welcoming the season of rain. In northern India rain arrives in month of July. So the song was totally appropriate.
One day before the final dance competition, we were called out for dress rehearsal. For girls the dress was colorful ghagra and choli and for boys it was dhoti and kurta.
Every group was allotted a particular color and was asked to try on their dresses. My group was given red color bottom and red top. I wore it and tried to tie the side knot. I tried to make it tight as much as possible and ran out for the dress practice.
Continuous jumping for the dance, loosened the knot and the ghagra started slipping a bit. While everyone was busy in dancing I was busy in holding my ghagra. My math’s teacher saw that someone was causing the problem in the coordination, so she came near us and stood watching me. She smiled and tied my knot, and said “No matter, how tight the knot may be, it will eventually slip, because there is no waist to hold it “.
Next day for the final she checked my knot a few times and for precaution used my school belt to tighten the grip of the dress.
PS: Has your waist ever been a talking point?
This my attempt for the Twenty-third day of the A-Z Challenge.
Today my story is about vaccination, and a child’s reaction to it.
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It was hot summer noon, she draped her eight month old daughter in a small towel to protect her from loo (a strong, hot and dry summer afternoon wind from the west which blows over the western Indo-Gangetic Plain region of North India and Pakistan).
In a small bag she kept a small water bottle for both of them and a feeding bottle for baby girl. Today for the first time she was taking her daughter out of their home that too alone. She was bit nervous didn’t knew how her baby would react on seeing strangers. But she can’t post-pone this visit further, her daughter’s BCG (Bacillus Calmette–Guérin (BCG) vaccine is a vaccine primarily used against tuberculosis) vaccination was long due. She could not further delay after knowing how tuberculosis could be fatal.
She held her daughter one side and the pink baby bag on another. She decided to walk to the hospital instead of taking a rickshaw. The baby was calm but her eyes were exploring, trying to capture all the things around her. The outer world was so lively and full of people that the child was getting more and more excited.
Than they came near a school and the school bell was ringing, and children were rushing out of the school. Some seemed happy to be free, some were dull and sleepy.
Her daughter who till than saw only her brother’s face started smiling at every passing child. Trying to get out of her mother’s arm. She started waving her hands towards all the strangers and loosened her grip on her mother’s saree. She laughed seeing a boy who made a funny face looking at her.
It was getting difficult to hold her but somehow she managed and took her to the hospital. The girl smiled, on seeing her pediatrician. She didn’t wept, when they gave her vaccination, just a little quiver for it.
She knew that day her daughter would grow up to be an extrovert and one without fear of natural fearing things.
PS: Tell me your one interesting vaccination experience ?
This my attempt for the Twenty-second day of the A-Z Challenge.
ametalk 